


Not A Love Song

by Rileykins



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Knuckle Kissing, Self-Insert, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, a smidge of smut, and needed to feel better, crying in bed, hand holding, i was having a bad week, mainly fluff, shameless self insert, so what do i do i write this, take my trash thank u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rileykins/pseuds/Rileykins
Summary: The sad realization that falling in love with an actor doesn't always mean rainbows and butterflies. A long, demanding filming schedule leaves little time for loved ones. A week away at a secluded cabin seems like the perfect getaway, until it isn't.





	Not A Love Song

“ _I’ll be home tomorrow night, Riley. Just 24 more hours._ ”

 

I stared at the text message on my screen with a growing sense of disappointment in my stomach. I hadn’t answered it; in fact I hadn’t even opened the iMessage app. Instead it sat sadly in my pulldown bar, waiting for me to pull the trigger on its “Delivered” to “Seen at” status. Somehow, in a sick twist of fate, my boyfriend wouldn’t be home for another day. Somehow, in the usual way life liked to fuck with me, I had to wait yet another day before I could see the love of my life. It sent a cold, bitter taste into my mouth. I had been marking the days down on my calendar for over two months to see Chris Evans’ face again, and the longer it took, the more anxious I slowly became. 

 

He was working on a film in Germany (he didn’t tell me what it was other than he would be abroad for a few weeks) and had promised to be home before summer started so we could go up to my folk’s cabin for a week. The film crew had carefully constructed the filming schedule around the cast’s schedules, and this was something that Chris had made sure he would be home for. I smiled at the thought. He would have a whole seven days off from press, from filming, from everything that came bundled with his name being splashed all over the world and it’s various medias. He had me at “no cellphone service up there, remember?”

 

He would be mine for a whole week and I was so ready for it.

 

I was all packed up and ready to leave tomorrow morning when he was supposed to land.

 

Instead he wouldn’t be home for another 24 hours. We wouldn’t leave until the next, next morning.

 

I felt the stinging of my tears behind my eyes, the promise of shedding all the worry and anxiety that had been building since he had been gone, and dropped my phone onto the couch. I could feel the anger swell suddenly, frustrated with the film crew for keeping him longer. With a slight whine, I nudged it away with my foot as if the inanimate object was the cause of Chris staying in Europe longer. It had to be the phone’s fault. It wasn’t Chris’, and it definitely wasn’t mine. Stubbornly I drew my knees up to my chest and thumbed under my left eye, sniffing subtly. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to cry _again_. 

 

This was part of the job. 

 

Missing _him_  was part of the job. 

 

Chris would and could be away for much longer, and he didn’t always have to tell me. Hell, even his agents didn’t even have to tell me if he would be away longer than the scheduled contract stated; I wasn’t technically anyone important enough to have that luxury. I could remember the shooting schedule for Infinity War, and while I had been able to sneak on set whenever they could film in Toronto, or whenever Chris could fly me out, this was so much different. I had work, Chris was working, there wouldn’t be time to get away from either of our busy schedules to visit and be together. That was why I had planned - almost near the start of the shooting time - that when he got home we’d spend a week together at my parents private cabin up north.

 

This was the hardest part about dating an actor.

 

I exhaled hard, shaking my head to move myself past this bump in the road.

 

I had already waited eight weeks and some more with previous press tours that had backed onto the start of this filming schedule. What was another twenty four hours? I could do this. I could do this. I could do this. Repeating this to myself like a desperate mantra worked, battling back the cold, sad feeling in my chest to be replaced with something else. Determination to not feel like that for now, I sought out a different emotion. I didn’t usually brush my feelings aside like this, but I had done my time crying, and pining for the man I loved. I couldn’t lose myself to it again, not when the finish line was barely a few inches away.

 

Instinctively, I wiped my tears away and got up, picking my phone up to enter a reply back to my boyfriend. ‘I love you so much more than you know, Chris. Be safe. I’ll see you tomorrow x’

 

With that, I placed my phone on the counter and started the whirlwind that was cleaning the small apartment I called home, while I waited for my boyfriend to come back to me. Whenever my anxiety got the better of me, I cleaned. I had overbooked my overtime hours at my place of work already, or else I would have made a beeline there for a few more. I had subtly rejected and refused all of Chris’ offers to move in with him, gently redirecting the conversation whenever it happened to come up. He wanted me to move in with him down in New York City. I was stationed quite comfortably in Toronto, bussing tables and cleaning dishes at a restaurant in the downtown core. I had worked my ass off to get the loft apartment I lived in now, and the landlord was very generous to the tenants, and not an old cranky man. She was fairly young, taking over for her (old, cranky) father. I smiled at the thought, hesitating in my final sweep of the kitchen.

 

Maybe she’d like to come by and have a coffee with a tenant.

 

When she had heard that I was seeing Chris Evans (“THE Chris Evans?! Riley!”) I had been promised with a higher security, and access to the basement garage entrance should Chris feel the need to use it. I had tried to talk her out of it, but she had insisted. I told Chris about it and together, we had decided that Chris - while he was seeing me - wouldn’t take advantage of it here. He still got his own keycard for the building’s entrance and he got my spare key to my apartment, but that was the extent of the landlord’s permission. He kept his car - whenever he had one - in my paid for parking spot since I don’t drive, and he would use the front entrance just like any other tenant would.

 

I did notice the bump in security a few days before he was supposed to come visit, and I was supposed to give her at least a 48 hour warning before his arrival so she could have extra people by the front desk.

 

By the time I had finished cleaning the kitchen and dining room, it was nearing dinnertime and any plans I had in the afternoon and early evening had fallen through. My garbage shoot was full, and I had already filled up the recycling bin outside with any extra things I had. I had no choice but to stop; the garbage couldn't go anywhere else. I fell onto my sofa again and pinched the bridge of my nose, the steady thrum of a dehydration headache beginning to start. Chris would have stopped me hours ago, forcing me to sit down on the couch, pushing a tall glass of water into my hands, mothering me in the soft way he does, all the while reminding me that anything that absolutely had to be cleaned, he could and would do for me if it had to be done that instant.

 

But Chris wasn’t here yet, and I was left with a half-finished job.

 

I sighed, shaking my head as the bitter taste rose in my throat again. I hadn’t gone through the trouble of courting dehydration just to make it worse with crying, that was the whole reason I had busied myself so much. I got up with the intent to grab a glass of water when I saw that my phone had lit up with some instagram notifications and a few text messages from my sister. I sighed, noticing the direct lack of text message from my boyfriend. Maybe he was shooting again, or celebrating the end of the shooting schedule with his buddies. I smiled, thinking of the parties we had attended together when Infinity War ended. I wasn’t even upset with him. I wasn’t upset to begin with. I was just - disappointed. He deserved to have a day to celebrate the end of a shoot. Movies were exhausting. I didn’t blame him.

 

I picked my phone up, thumbing my passcode in as I reached over for my mug from that morning. Permanently stained with coffee and tea rims, I nudged the water tap on and let it run, my mug tipping slightly in my loose hold. Weaving my fingers under the fresh, cool water, I opened the Instagram application on my phone. I shoved my mug under the tap, letting the clear water fill it as I scrolled through my notifications, noticing that there were more ‘Captain America’ fan-pages requesting access to my private page once again. I rolled my eyes, and continued going through my notifs, not really thinking as I turned the tap off absentmindedly beside me.

 

My full mug clattered into the sink loudly when I noticed I had over one hundred message requests.

 

Normally, I had a spike in followers and message requests when the paparazzi got a couple pictures of Chris and I leaving the gym or the supermarket, or at the airport the rare time we could fly together, even after we tried our best to avoid it. A spike in following requests usually meant ten or fifteen random’s who requested to see my profile, or wanted to know how to take my actor boyfriend away from me, a nobody in Toronto. Chris would post a picture of us together once or twice between promotional pictures, and that too would spike my requests up because he always tagged my account. I couldn’t blame him; after secretly dating behind closed doors, when we spoke to his publicist about being public, Chris had told me he wouldn’t hold back and that meant posting pictures of us to Instagram and Twitter, a platform I rarely used. I accepted, and that’s where we are today. 

 

I wasn’t quite sure what brought in more attention this time, considering Chris hadn’t posted anything to his Instagram account in almost two weeks. The last thing he posted with a sponsored post for the new Hugo Boss cologne.

 

I breezed through my messages, eyes narrowing. Most of them were from boys who thought they could sweep me out of Chris’ arms with a dick pic, which resulted in them being immediately blocked and deleted. Some were from girls, enraged I had ‘stolen’ him from them. A few were from Captain America fan-pages asking for any “insider scoops” I could give them regarding the incoming Avengers 4 film, and of course, some from “Stucky” fan-pages telling me I had no right dating Chris since he should be dating Sebastian. I deleted those without opening them, as they weren’t worth my time. Besides, Seb and I were good friends too thanks to Chris; there wasn’t much about that, that I would change anyways. I turned the tap on again and filled my mug, deciding not to bother with the rest of the messages. 

 

There was no point; nothing there would tell me what I wanted anyways. 

 

I brought my water-filled mug over to the couch again with my phone, dropped it on the cushion beside me and clicked my TV on. I was hungry, but I wasn’t in the mood to cook; cooking required messing up the kitchen I had just scrubbed clean. I also wasn’t sure what I wanted to eat. I wasn’t really in the mood for fast, greasy food. I looked at my phone, narrowing my eyes at the blank screen. I could order from UberEats. I could also order from SkipTheDishes. I had avenues available to me, but did I want to use any of them? Not really. I felt my chest tighten at the thought of having dinner alone again for yet another night, and wondered if I could somehow manage to swallow down a bowl of cereal before bed. 

 

I shook my head, shoving the thoughts down and scrolled through the channels, lifting my mug up to drink. I almost made it. Chris would be home, and in my arms this time tomorrow. 

 

I just had to _make it_ there first.

 

My eyes were slowly closing by the time my phone dinged with a handful of notifications from Instagram again. When I lifted my phone up to check, I noticed I had killed a few hours in zombie mode. What was even on television anyways? Clearly it was nothing spectacular, considering I would have remembered as much. Some cooking show, with a salt and pepper haired chef screaming at his team. I wasn’t much for “reality” television, but it did the trick when I needed to zone out for a while. I rolled my eyes, re-adjusted myself on the couch and opened the IG application, idly wondering about how many requests I had piled up in the few hours I had wasted. 

 

I clicked on the tab and noticed with some uncertainty that I was being tagged in a pure black picture on Chris’ account. Strange. There was no caption, no hidden tags. Just a plain, black picture with my tag on it. I narrowed my eyes. The cast had done this before when they were promoting their movie, to make speculations rise and get comments/new eyes on the movie/trailer before release. Only they never tagged their S.O’s in it before.

 

I sat up straighter when I noticed that Sebastian had tagged me in the comments as well.

 

Just my handle, no comment, about a thousand likes, and a few replies (to Sebastian) which I didn’t bother reading. I was much more intrigued by why one of my dearest friends had tagged me in Chris’ picture, when it was already done. Strange. I shook my head, clicked the television off, and stood up from the couch in the suddenly pitch black room. For three seconds I was completely at ease, before the weak prickling of anxiety started to crop up. Stretching, I cracked my back, other joints clicking in place. My kitchen and dining room were clean, the living room should have been vacuumed but… Tomorrow morning. I could be up and awake early tomorrow morning, finish the rest of my cleaning, and help Chris unpack and repack for our trip to the cabin for a whole seven days.

 

I trudged towards my bedroom, flicking the living room light off as I went. As the apartment was covered in darkness, I opened my bedroom door and slipped my pajama pants off, my shirt following afterwards. Dressed now only in a pair of panties and a loose fitting tank top, I threw my covers back and crawled into bed, desperate not to let the cold side of the bed remind me that this was yet another night I would be sleeping alone. I tucked the covers around my waist loosely, settling first on my side, my back to Chris’ side of the bed. I turned over onto my other side out of habit, fingers reaching for the corner of his pillow. Falling asleep had always been a challenge for me. I wasn’t so much an insomniac as I was someone who struggled getting to sleep.

 

I could sleep deeply for hours, but actually getting to that point? Always tough.

 

It was just that much more closer to the ‘impossible’ side of things when Chris wasn’t around.

 

I don’t really remember falling asleep. I don’t remember rolling onto Chris’ side of the bed, and collecting his pillow to my chest. His scent stubbornly lingered in the very fabrics of the bed, and no matter how often I scrubbed the sheets, no matter how strong the detergent was, I would always end up with my head buried in his pillow, smelling him everywhere. I dreamt of a wide open sunflower field against the setting sun, with a sole, thousand year old oak tree with a tire swing on it. Could oak trees live to be that long? 

 

At some point in the night, I heard what could only be my apartment door squeaking open. It doesn’t wake me up completely, because at this point I’m still between deep dream sleep and a light snooze. It’s when the bed suddenly dips with weight I can feel the hard fought tendrils of sleep quickly recede from my being. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep for, but there’s a weight on the bed. Before my brain has a chance to launch a sudden panic deep through my veins, there’s a familiar heat wrapped against my back, and an arm slithered around my waist, tugging my hips back slightly as my mysterious bed partner sighs and nuzzles his nose into my hair. There was only one person who had a key to my apartment who did that in his sleep.

 

My heart rate jumped so suddenly in tear-inducing joy: Chris was home.

 

“Chris,” I whispered, choked up.

 

There’s silence, and then he exhaled slightly, and even before he speaks I can feel his smile along his lips. “I was going to surprise you,” Chris said quietly, fingers slipping under the long shirt I wore, holding me closer to him. His fingers felt hot against my skin, and it was all I could do not to start bawling like a child. My Chris was home. He was here! In bed! With me! I wiggled my hips back, suddenly desperate to turn around and touch his face, to make sure he was really here with me, that this wasn’t a fucking dream and I would wake up and lose him again and- 

 

“But I should have known slipping into bed wouldn’t so much surprise you as it would wake you.” Chris continued, dropping his mouth to kiss the back of my neck. He let my hip go, and in an instant I had shifted, moved to face him, eyes misty with tears.

 

“Chris.” I repeated myself dumbly, reaching to touch his face. Chris nodded wordlessly, taking my hand in his, twisting it just slightly to kiss my knuckles, a weak chuckle leaving his lips. My lower lip quivered, and he smiled at me.

 

“Surprise, I’m home baby.”

 

I felt the tears fall before I realized it had happened, but Chris was quick to draw me as close as humanly possible, wrapping his arms around me as I clung to him, crying into his shoulder. One of his hands rubbed circles in the small of my back, the other cradled the back of my head. I was in the arms of the man I loved, who was home so early, and I was crying?! Ridiculous. He hushed me softly, his hand slipping under my shirt once again to rub along my skin. Somehow, in the midst of my tears, Chris had moved so I was laying on top of him. I squirmed, lifting my head with a hiccup to look down at his smiling face. God, Chris was perfect. He was everything I had ever wanted in a man, and I- I was a sobbing mess in his arms. 

 

He lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles across my cheek, taking my tears with the back of his fingers. How he managed to remain so sweet, so calm while I battled my own emotions I would never know, but I was so grateful for it all The once suffocating silence that came with being alone had broken, left in its wake a more warm, comfortable silence. Chris kissed my knuckles again, bringing my attention back to his sweet, tired face. He must have been in the plane when he took that black picture. Sebastian must have tagged me in it to tell me he was coming home. Had this all be a ruse to surprise me?

 

“I’ve missed you so much.” The admission was enough to set me off again, the way his voice lowered to just a breath over a whisper, catching slightly. He wasn’t looking at me, rather he was tracing the outline of my lips with his gaze, his hands holding mine. “It was _so hard_ this time, being so far away. I feel like I’ve been away longer than two months...”

 

“It’s okay,” I whispered hoarsely, not wanting to ruin the reunion, not wanting to see him lose his cool so easily at the thought of being away longer. “It’s okay, Chris. It’s part of the job, I get it.” I took my hands from his and cupped his face softly, peppering kisses along his jaw and chin.

 

“Riley, missing you like I was missing part of my heart will _never_ be just a part of the job.” He told me between my kisses, wrapping his arms firmly around me.

 

I shook my head, pressing a kiss sweetly to his lips. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and from the way Chris had been talking, there was only so much we could both tolerate right now. “I love you.” I said, kissing him once again.

 

“I love you,” Chris echoed me with a smile, moving slightly so he could crane his neck and kiss my forehead. 

 

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. My head, tucked under his chin, his arms held tight around me, our legs crossed within one another’s. I was home in his arms, I was safest in his arms and he was back with me. He wasn’t some big shot actor when we were sitting cross-legged in my dining room, eating Chinese food and laughing hysterically at John Mulaney. He was just my boyfriend, with soy sauce dripping down his chin as he struggled to catch his breath.

 

I  listened to his heartbeat, counting them in my head until I realized I wasn’t anymore. In the span of a few minutes I had fallen asleep on top of him. I lifted my head, and saw that his eyes were closed, his breathing steady. I grinned despite the fact that this wasn’t necessarily something to smile about. He had fallen asleep. The faint street lights from down below barely silhouetted his strong jaw, the straightness of his nose. I didn’t need the light. I could see it all in blinding detail. I kissed his nose, kissed his lips, then wiggled carefully out of the firm grip he had on me. I slid to his side, and pressed in against him, kissing his neck softly as he slept. 

 

I reached over to my bedside table and lifted my phone up, noticing that it was nearing four in the morning. I placed my phone back down, and looked at Chris’ sleeping face. I bit the corner of my lip; I had to get some sleep in order to make the drive to my parents cabin. I had a whole week with him starting tomorrow, I reminded myself. Just Chris and I. No cell phones, no laptops, no calls from agents and  I yawned, finally feeling tired, and turned onto my side, my back to Chris. It didn’t take long for him to move, pressing in against my back with an arm slung protectively over my waist. It’s this moment right here that I am positive we were meant to be together. It’s in this moment, where we’re both on the verge of sleeping for three days straight that we both still find each other on the edge of unconsciousness.

 

I fall asleep a few minutes later, the happiest I had been in months, content with knowing that I would wake up next to him, and be on our way to our own private paradise where we would learn all about each other once again.


End file.
